December
The month of closures. When the year is curling in and old chapters must be closed, so new one’s can begin.
December
When the descending cold and quietness unsettles some. While the electric skies and slow drifting blues make others brood and reflect. What has passed, what remains and what might come. Though the last one no one no one knows. Still you sit and wonder, while the tea gets cold.
December
A time of lights and joy.
A time of lights and loneliness.
When Hanukkah, Christmas and other feasts give way to loud New Year’s celebrations and drunken revellers forget their way. While some sit and wait for the noise to subside, wrapped in a silent blanket, trying to remember – how did they get here.
December
When the cold floor brings grey days that unfold into biting dark nights. So you fish out some frayed socks and light a cigarette and enjoy the view from your balcony ledge. Even if your lungs tell you otherwise.
December
When mothballs are removed from the neatly wrapped winter clothes, and blankets and comforters are dug out from storage boxes and lofts. Aired for use, welcoming winter and dreading spring.
December
When pickles and chillies are roasted on sunny rooftops with a good book and earphones. Was that your mother calling? Who knows. The hero just died on page 96.
December
When green thumbs doubt themselves, waging endless wars against the frost, cold and arid soil. Will the bougainvilleas and basils die this year? Or should you just stick to cactus and jade plants?
December
When the kitchen is the favourite place in the house. You catch a drift of the warm smell of pies or the soup simmering for hours. When medicinal teas make room amongst chais and the cups pile up faster than news.
December
When you suddenly want to help your mother cook something, even if you have not hovered near the kitchen the rest of the year. Maybe we bake Mani’s old sponge cake? And then spend two hours looking for the recipe.
December
When the sunny spot on your bed is not just your cat’s favourite place. And you let the messy bed be for a few more hours (even if it nags you constantly in the back of your mind). For who knows it might beckon again and you may curl in before the sun.
December
When the dogs howl louder at night and laughter echoes through empty corridors for days. When the creaking bed upstairs fills you with amusement and the shouting boys downstairs bring about dread.
December
When memories are made, unmade and sealed in for the next year. When lessons are learnt and wisdom is gathered. Only to be forgotten and scattered away with time, by next December.
December
A time to remember and a time to forget. Even if not as successfully as the blameless vessel.
December
A time to tuck in all that was and rest for all that will – happen.
Written by Rhea Purnita Paine
